


How Much More Dear

by Dawnwind



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, hurt comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 17:38:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10141913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnwind/pseuds/Dawnwind
Summary: Occurs directly after What Lies Tangled. Robbie gets a call while on the layover for his flight to Australia that changes everything.





	

How Much More Dear  
By  
Dawnwind

“’E’s been hit by a car,” Lizzie said, sounding like she was standing right next to him instead of thousands of miles away. 

Staring at his mobile, Robbie Lewis sucked in air, trying to make sense of the words. The discordant sounds of the Dubai airport: announcements for flights, entreaties to attend to your luggage, and calls for wayward passengers in three different languages coalesced into nonsensical white noise. The only thing he could hear clearly was Lizzie prattling on and on but not much of that made any sense.

“And?” he managed on an exhale, images of James striding across a road, those long gangly legs like a great stork, blond hair glistening in the sun, and suddenly, some heavy black motor bearing down on him. 

Blood, sickening sounds of impact. Screams of pain. 

He’d witnessed all so many times in his nightmares.

_Val._

He saw the worry in Laura’s eyes as she returned from Starbucks with a coffee in each hand. Pressed his left palm against his ear so he could listen to exactly what Lizzie was trying to tell him.

“I reckon he’d just heard ‘e’d died, so he was rushing…”

“Died?” Lewis echoed, his chest going numb, heart flopping against his ribcage like the bloody trout he’d pulled out of the water. That day he’d gone fishing with James and Phillip.

“His father, sir,” Lizzie explained, finally pausing. “When he were leaving the airport. This morning—“

“After James left us at the airport, he was hit by a car?” Robbie repeated slowly.

Laura’s blue eyes went wide with shock. She stepped closer, but he ignored her “What happened?” he demanded, his grip on the mobile almost cutting off the circulation to his fingertips.

“Apparently his sister was calling, to tell him their father had died,” Lizzie went on.

He wanted to reach across Europe and Asia to England and strangle the lass. She was not giving him what he needed to know. 

“Must not have been looking when he ran for his car and another driver ploughed into him in the car park,” she said.

“Lizzie.” Robbie grit his teeth, those mental images of James crushed under the tyres of some rushing passenger’s car not helping in the least. “Is he—“

“Bruised all over, broken ribs and cracked his hip,” she said succinctly, the way she would when summarising a victim’s case history. “Doctor said ‘e wouldn’t need surgery, he’ll be walking around by tomorrow.”

That’s when the dizziness hit hard, the waiting area for flight 7984 to Sydney, Australia revolving slowly as if on a carousel. Sick making, that was.

Lewis forced himself to breathe in and out, shoving away the terrifying pictures of James lying dead. He closed his eyes to Laura’s enquiring expression. The lad had survived. Not an ounce of fat on that long body to pad his bones, and yet he’d survived relatively unscathed.

“Cheers, Lizzie,” he spoke mechanically, afraid to release his fears of what could have been. “Give him my best, and--”

“I will,” she replied. “You should call him yourself. I’m sure he’d appreciate the best wishes.”

“I’ll be in touch.” The coward took over and rang off, his heart was still beating double time.

“What happened to James?” Laura thrust the coffee into his hand, taking a brisk drink from her own. There was something brittle in her tone, something in the way she took a step back, out of reach.

She knew. Knew without a single word of explanation. Before he’d entirely admitted it to himself. Knew why he’d vacillated wildly in the last few days. Why he’d been so conflicted. So guilty.

“You’re going back, aren’t you?” Laura asked tonelessly, her lips pinched together tightly, turning her suddenly old and weary.

Guilt washed over him once more. He’d never meant to hurt her. Either of them, but they’d both been caught in the crossfire. What did he have left? 

He nodded. Had he lost everything? “I think I have to.”

“Choosing him over me.” She looked carved from stone, but her voice betrayed the controlled emotion, the tears wound around the words.

“Laura.” What else to say? How to explain what the heart yearned for? He thought momentarily of Val, so different in every way from James. Where did love come from and how did it manifest? 

He’d wanted to love Laura. Had enjoyed her company, her laughter and infectious joy. They’d had fun together, and leaned on each other, pleased that co-habitation had been achieved so effortlessly.

But she wasn’t _him. James._

As improbable as it seemed, after all these years, he’d found the person who completed him. Once upon a time, that might have scared him senseless. He’d thought himself old, and set in his ways. Men paired off with women—that was the way of the world.

At least it was before this new century with the gay pride, marriage equality, all that faff. Hadn’t ever imagined he’d fall into any of those categories—not a widower with grown children. Maybe tomorrow he’d transform into a butterfly emerging from the cocoon of propriety, but for today, he was bloody terrified.

“Well,” Laura said tightly, lifting her chin. She pointed to the door opening on the opposite end of the waiting area. “They’ve announced our plane is boarding.”

He hadn’t heard. There was only so much he could take in at once, and his heart was pounding far too loudly, drowning out all ambient noise. 

“I will be on my way, then, shall I?” Tears glinted in her blue eyes but she held steady. Very British, with her stiff upper lip and mask of polite civility.

She was angry. He didn’t have to be told: the rigid posture when she separated her carryon bag from his. Snapped her book shut. The one she’d bought at Gatwick to give he and James a moment to say their good-byes. She’d probably known then, too, but had assumed that she’d won the competition. 

“I’m s--“ he started.

“Don’t!” She levelled a finger at him, tears catching the overhead lights, making her eyes bright as stars. “I know you, Robbie Lewis. I know you think that…” She gulped but didn’t succumb. “I’d just hoped—“ She shrugged. “We could make something together. I could see how bound up you were with him, and I’m not homophobic, nor do I care…” Her natural sense of humour surfaced briefly, “usually—one way or th’other about what same sex couples do--”

“But,” he said softly, and bent to kiss her soft, fine cheek. She smelt, ever so faintly, of the soaps she washed with at the morgue. “I didn’t feel the same way you did.”

Laura smiled so very sadly and nodded. “You will tell our James to take much more care, won’t you?” 

“I will,” he said, drained.

Then she was gone. She slipped in front of a tall man in the boarding queue, abruptly disappearing from view.

He was rooted to the spot, unable to work out what he had to do next. He automatically drank from the cup in his hand. Laura wasn’t the one who usually brought him coffee. Quite often, it was James, and the cup would retain the faint scent of cigarette smoke. 

His heart clenched; there was no other word for it, and he finished the cooling coffee in one gulp. Exchange the ticket to Australia for a return to England and get back to where he was meant to be. Because of Laura’s sensible nature, travel insurance had been included when their flight reservations were made. It was surprisingly easy, although more expensive than Lewis expected, to reroute his destination to the UK. 

It felt strangely good to make a decision that wasn’t based entirely on guilt. He’d waffled on whether or not to accompany Laura in the first place, reneging on the deal the middle of the week. Then, after James gave him a dressing down, reversed his own plans. As if fear of losing his consultancy in the Oxfordshire police department was the sole reason he’d not wanted to leave.

He’d lied to everyone, including himself. Aye, the consultancy was a gift that he prized highly, but it would be nothing without Hathaway. The real reason he didn’t hang up his detective shield and spend his afternoons fishing was James. Only James.

 _“Do you love Laura?”_ Hathaway had asked, with that strange intensity. 

Remorse had kicked Robbie in the guts just then, at how much he’d hurt her by chickening out of the trip. But thinking back, he re-examined the scene. He’d been so wrapped up in his own conscience, he’d failed utterly to pay much attention to James. So often, the lad hid behind a deadpan mask. He hadn’t that day—there’d been a passion, a drive in his voice that Robbie’d refused to acknowledge. Had James expected a different answer?

Settling into his seat on the British Airways plane, Robbie mentally replayed the rest of James’ advice. _“Don’t assume that she knows. People make that assumption all the time, and it’s a mistake.”_

_\--People make that assumption—_

An oddly nonspecific word choice for James, who prided himself on his ability to speak. He hadn’t said women make that assumption. Had James been inferring something, and when Robbie hadn’t picked up on the subtext, let sleeping dogs lie?

Damn, he wasn’t cut out for this sort of guff. The uncertainty of romance: the angst, the yearning and indecision was a young man’s game. How could he compete? Not that—as far as he knew—James had any other suitors of late. The lad barely socialised with anyone but Lewis. And shouldn’t that have given him some kind of sign? A nudge?

No. He’d been dumb and blind, trying so hard to be the lover Laura Hobson wanted him to be. Receptive, generous and above all, dutiful. Which had been the problem all along, whether he admitted it or not.

One shouldn’t feel it was his duty to spend time with a loved one. He’d had fun with Laura, and she was comfortable. But that was all. There was no fire, no passion.

With James, he felt whole; completely accepted, understood and—he’d always felt love, just hadn’t recognised it as a romantic attraction. It was so out of his sphere of reference as to be on another planet. Besides, he himself was, well, as worn as an old shoe.

James was beautiful; there was no other word to describe him. That hair, soft as a peach and fine as a babe’s. Robbie had never had a problem touching his bagman; a hand on the arm or a matey pat on the shoulder. But there’d been other times, when the only thing that mattered was holding on. He recalled saving James from the fire, pulling the lad into his arms and carrying him out of the house, adrenaline giving him unexpected strength.

The idea of opening his heart to James was panic inducing—and yet, he’d known the daft sod for nearly a decade. They’d shared so many quiet moments together, how much different would revealing the truth be?

Especially when he was quite sure James felt the same way. James had always been quiet, secretive. Was that why? Had he been hiding his feeling behind that smooth exterior? For how long? 

Robbie bought a beer from the flight attendant, staring down at his watch. What time would be in Oxford? He’d gone forward and then abruptly back so quickly—no chance for jetlag to set in, but certainly confusion. What time had James been injured, and how long had he been in hospital? 

James had deposited Robbie and Laura at Gatwick at half past ten. There hadn’t been much traffic on the M40, giving them plenty of time to check in and go through customs before the twelve thirty departure.  
A seven hour flight, landing in Dubai right on schedule. Robbie and Laura had been ready for dinner, but in the United Arab Emirate, it was eleven thirty pm. Then the expected layover before the final leg to Perth, which turned into the extended layover as Robbie renegotiated his tickets. The plane bound for Gatwick had taken off at three am Dubai time. Luckily, he’d never changed his watch to the Gulf time zone. 

His stomach rumbling, Robbie peered blearily at his watch. Currently eleven pm in Oxford. A layover in Frankfurt, of all places, got him into jolly old England at nine am. A full twenty-four hours since he’d left the house he’d shared with Laura.

Which he’d have to move out of, now that he thought of it. Good that she was to be away for a month, then, wasn’t it? He’d have time to find a flat.

The big question was how to span the distance between the airport and Oxford. A cab would be prohibitively expensive. Would have to hire a car.

That sorted, he paid eight pounds for an unappealing “snack pack” containing a miniscule wedge of brie, a packet of water crackers, a sack of dubious sultanas and cashews, and a square of Cadbury’s. He ate the chocolate first, well aware that he was avoiding the main source of his unease.

What to say to James when they were finally face to face? Did he simply dive in feet first with a declaration of love? Didn’t seem at all fitting, not when the lad was grieving his father and laid up with a gammy hip. 

Mustn’t rush his fences. This was new territory, but without a scheme in mind, Robbie felt decidedly at sixes and sevens. 

He washed down the brie and crackers with more beer, and nodded off for a short while. Smash ups and wild visions of dark sedans bearing down on Val and James haunted his dreams. 

Woke up as the flight attendant brought round a cup of coffee and a warmed towel to freshen up with.

He didn’t try sleeping after that.

~~**~~

Navigating the route out of Gatwick in a hired Toyota after one hour of sleep in the last twenty-seven was beyond hellish. Trying to stay awake when the traffic moved at a snail’s pace past roadworks, he amused himself imagining what arcane bit of wisdom or quotation James would have come up with. Something about Dante’s nine circles of hell. It certainly would not have been the first time Hathaway’d trotted out that chestnut.

Anticipating the expression on James’ face when Robbie walked into his hospital room was far less clear. Would he be elated or wary? This waffling between his own euphoria and apprehension was turning Robbie into a nutter. He’d changed his entire life on a single hope, one that he prayed would pay off.

It was a mistake not to tell a dearly beloved that he was loved. That had been James’ message all along. Robbie should not have needed reminding, but he did. 

He needed a kick in the head, that’s what. 

He needed to have told James the truth, from the beginning. 

While he was still in Dubai, Lizzie’d sent a text that James was admitted to a hospital not far from the airport. Robbie’s disorientation wasn’t helped by the unfamiliar streets of leading to a place he’d never been. He only hoped the car’s sat nav had more working brain cells than he did at this point.

Finally, Spire Gatwick Hospital lurched into view. He turned into a large car park, driving toward the entrance. A blond man leaning on a crutch hobbled out the main doors and over to the smoking area. 

That couldn’t be him. Relief at seeing him alive, and relatively whole, warred with exasperation. He was suddenly giddy with love. The bloody fool, what was he doing? 

James pulled out cigarette and lighter, indulging in what was probably his first smoke since the accident. Robbie stopped the Toyota in the unloading zone. This was the moment of truth.

He climbed out, glad that James was facing away. At the same time, a black taxi, one of the iconic black London cabs, stopped in front of the Toyota, blocking Robbie’s view. He heard more than saw James crutch the few feet to the larger vehicle. 

With renewed determination, Robbie dashed round his car and nearly ploughed right into Hathaway.

Caught in the act of taking a last puff on his fag, James’ standard aloof demeanour was shot to hell. He stared, eyes going wide for an instant before he regained his composure. He still had the small steri-strip over his left eyebrow from the bomb blast four days ago. “Sir,” he said, only a slight tremor in his voice betraying his aplomb, “Missed your flight, did you?”

“Actually, had quite a time rerouting out of Dubai,” Robbie replied, every fibre of his being telling him this was meant to be. Neither of them was the rush up and declare undying love with a hug and kiss type—particularly not in front of a Pakistani cabbie.

“I’ve come to fetch him home,” Robbie said to the driver. 

“Apparently our Lizzie’s been busy on her mobile.” James propped up his crutch, watching with that bemused expression he got when DI Lewis took over a case. 

The driver opened his mouth to protest, but luckily, a largely pregnant woman and her doting female partner came out of the hospital. They slid gratefully into the cab and it was gone in moments, leaving Lewis and Hathaway alone. 

At last echoed in Robbie’s brain. And then, _as it should be, just he and Hathaway,_ but with all normality gone out the window.

James’ upper lip twitched: one of his patented not quite a smile, head still wreathed with smoke. He dropped the cig on the pavement, grinding it out with the rubber tip of his crutch. There was no awkwardness in the silence between the two of them, more a re-acquaintance of souls. Without a word said.

“Your doctor’s surely not released you less than twenty-four hours after stopping a car with your pelvis?” Robbie asked, going for nothing-out-of-the-ordinary-here. As expected. Even so, he was very aware of Hathaway’s joy, and a sense of relief. 

The smile playing on James’ mouth went into his eyes. “All paperwork signed in triplicate, sir. I’m free, gammy leg and all.” He shifted his weight, the skin at his temples tightening and his mouth going flat with pain laced fatigue.

“In with you, then. You’ll be tucked up in bed with a cuppa in no time,” Robbie said briskly, opening the car door. He’d been so focussed on seeing James in one piece, he hadn’t thought a moment past that. Where were they to go? To James’ flat? Probably best. He couldn’t quite put a near invalid into the same bed where he’d slept with Laura two nights ago. Not to mention that she’d return eventually and reclaim her space. He started a mental checklist of things that would need to be sorted sooner rather than later.

For now, getting James settled was the first order of business.

“Save you some doss,” James remarked, awkwardly angling himself into the passenger seat. “My car’s still in the car park at Gatwick.”

 _Of course it was._ They’d go back, turn in the rental and collect his motor.

“You’ve taken some painkillers?” Robbie asked, examining him for other signs of injury. James had a ramrod straight spine at the best of times, particularly when engaged in some knotty investigation. Now, he was stiff, holding his body as if every position hurt, even sitting in the comfortable seat with the crutch situated between his bent knees.

“Chemist doled them out. Over there in the sack.” He waved long fingers at a plastic carry sack lying on the pavement near the main doors of the hospital.

Robbie retrieved the bag, removing the bottle. Inside was a strip of individually sealed tablets , proving that the daft sod hadn’t taken his dose. Robbie stowed the medication and the crutch in the boot before driving out. “Cracked ribs, cracked pelvis —anything else I should know?” he asked dryly, heading back to the airport.

“Won’t be up to getting my leg over any time soon, I’ll expect,” James replied with a hint of wry amusement.

“That how you expect it will go?” Robbie’s heart sped up and he glanced to the left, catching James’ eye. 

Love hit him so hard it was difficult to breathe. He slid his eyes back to the roadway just in time to slow down for a red light.

“I think our…” James paused, bracing an elbow against his ribs to inhale, “relationship has entered a new phase.”

“Right.”

“And that I would like to do things not specifically laid out in the police handbook outlining conduct between two detective inspectors,” James answered slowly.

“I’m glad.” Robbie nodded, unable to stop smiling. When he looked over at James, there was a big sloppy smile on his face, as well. “I did hear you the other day, you know.”

For once James didn’t appear to be thinking leagues ahead of him. “When did you ever?”

 _“People make that assumption all the time, and it’s a mistake,”_ he quoted.

“Ah,” James said quietly. “You were so conflicted. I couldn’t confront you straight out, but I could probe…”

“You’ve considered this for a while then?” He wasn’t sure he had. Not properly, anyway. He realised that it had been there, between them, touching down when he’d least expect it. In the tilt of James’ head over a stack of paperwork, the light turning his blond hair to pure brilliance. The way he’d grin, eyes bright with mischief when they could finish each other’s sentences, confounding Innocent or Moody. Again, he remembered cradling James as he ran from the burning house, of knowing that he wouldn’t be able to live if James had died. 

Love. He’d recognised the shape of it, inside his heart, but hadn’t allowed himself to take it out and hold it up to the light of day. 

Until now. Better late than never.

Had he blinded himself to believing that he should be with Laura, out of convention, or had he let his nerves get in the way of true love?

“I had succumbed to your charms lo these many years,” James remarked in that wry, sarky tone he used when he was both deflecting and attempting to make Lewis laugh. Always worked. “I’d assumed it was unrequited. Very romantic in an aesthetic, literary sense, you know.” James leaned back in his seat, eyes half closed. “What about Laura?”

“Cooing over the new baby about now, I expect,” Robbie answered, glancing at his watch. He still couldn’t quite keep track of the time differences. “I did love her. That wasn’t a lie.”

“I know. She does, as well. However, I hear a but?”

“It just wasn’t _all._ ” Robbie shook his head slightly, still worried he’d broken something that could never be repaired. “A future with her was safe…comfortable, but it wasn’t exciting.”

“Never expected to be described in quite that manner, sir,” James said lazily.

“I thought we’d have got past sir long since,” Robbie retorted, well aware he was being teased. “I’ll not kiss a subordinate.”

“Not sure you should make such declarations before we’ve even attempted to kiss.” James opened one eye, and then both, looking at him steadily.

Felt like being caught in a tractor beam. Which was not at all safe whilst driving. “We’ll get there soon enough,” he said as blandly as possible to keep his heart rate, and his suddenly intensely curious cock, in check.

James smirked slightly but the amusement faded. “Dad’s died.”

“I know.” Robbie concentrated on navigating the curving roads back to the airport. “Just before you were hit.”

“All the statistics prove that walking while talking on a mobile or texting is dangerous,” James said obliquely, hiding his emotions behind facts.

“When is the funeral?” Robbie asked carefully. He knew how much James was hurting both physically and psychologically. His relationship with his father had been so fraught with any number of things. They’d been very different men, connected by their father-son bond, but partially estranged. Lewis had only known Phillip after dementia robbed him of his memory. He’d liked the old bloke, enjoyed the handful of times they’d gone fishing together. James was surely heaping guilt upon himself for letting his familial duties lapse for so long. The lad often donned the hair shirt when no-one else would have laid blame on him. 

“I haven’t spoken to Nell since—“ James raised a hand to indicate his infirmities and winced. 

“You didn’t tell her you’d been in hospital?” Robbie roared. Definitely not the right tact, especially after musing on James’ tendency to assume guilt, but still—there were priorities.

“Mobile’s smashed,” James told him wearily.

“And you couldn’t pick up the telephone in the ward, make a single call?” He raised his eyes to the bright blue sky visible through the windscreen and saw a plane streaking upwards, bound for some faraway place.

~~**~~

James made the call while Robbie returned the Toyota and located Hathaway’s Jaguar. He didn’t pretend not to be listening in to James’ conversation with his sister—if he and James were to be a couple, he’d want to help out with the myriad tedium that was planning a funeral. The bad and the good, eh. 

“Nell’s quite cross with me,” James said, ringing off, as if he’d told his sister he’d nicked her lolly, not been in hospital for a day.

“And well she should be,” Robbie tsked, using a slow moment in the line of cars inching toward the motorway to squeeze James’ hand. “There’s polite reserve and there’s you, James. She’s all you have left. Keep talking to her, at the very least.”

“Yes.” He seemed almost to have fallen asleep, face tight with pain despite the tablets Robbie had insisted he take before they left Gatwick. “With you, too. If I’d been honest all along—“

“Honesty’s not lacking here, lad,” Robbie answered, thinking about his own reactions to loving James. His past reservations to the contrary, he had the strongest urge to stop the car on the side of the motorway and kiss James. Hold him as he had the night he’d rescued him from fire.

“Ah, professor, societal pressures and the fear of reprisals for non-conformity,” James responded, slitting open a blue eye. “Which is both of us, viewing each other from the wrong end of the lens and not trusting the validity of our own feelings.”

“Right.” Hit the nail on the head. 

“And I fear that I’ll not be the best company for a while,” James said in such a forlorn voice, it sounded as if he were about to cry. 

Except that he rarely cried.

“What with the funeral, and recovery, not to mention—“

“You’re snappish when not on an investigation?” Robbie finished for him. “I’ve had some experience with A, B and C, lad, and they don’t scare me off. Unless you’d rather--?” His heart was suddenly in his throat, fear crowding out the incipient joy.

“No. No.” James looked stricken, his mouth opening as if he couldn’t quite speak. “I want you, Robbie Lewis. I do—I mean…”

“I love you, too.” He smiled. They’d both have to deal with any number of issues in this burgeoning romance, but love for each other wasn’t one of them.

James fell asleep, the combination of narcotics and healing catching up with him. Which left Robbie oddly wide awake after God knows how long without a kip, contemplating what came next. He wasn’t at all surprised to sense Val’s presence. Soon after she’d died, he’d begun feeling her beside him. She’d be there for a bit of a chat or a wise comment to resolve some knotty issue. Early on, the pain had been so great he hadn’t always welcomed her spectre. Now she was a comfort.

He could hear her voice inside his head, picture her sweet smile of approval. She’d have liked James. “We love who we love, Robbie,” she’d have said. “There’s no rhyme or reason. Just don’t let it pass you by. Take the chance you’re given.”

“Thanks, lass,” he said aloud, watching James sleep. 

~~**~~ 

They bypassed a day’s worth of letters and bills, tossed the Oxford Mail into the lounge, and went directly into the bedroom. 

“Feels like I’ve been away from Oxford weeks, not—“ Robbie stared blearily at the clock, calculating the passage of time suddenly beyond his abilities.

“A day and a half, more or less.” Crutch under one arm, James stopped in the middle of the room as if he’d run out of steam and couldn’t figure out what to do next.

“I’ve only just now noticed,” Robbie said, monitoring him for any signs of keeling over. His shirt sleeves were smudged with dirt, waistcoat grungy, and his tie hung like a noose around his neck. “You’ve no suit jacket.”

“Nor Burberry. Your powers of observation are slipping.” James tugged on the knot in his tie and slid it off. He winced with even slight movements. “From what I understand, both were damaged beyond repair.”

“They can be replaced.” Robbie tossed the tie onto the bed and placed both hands around James’ ribcage to feel the solid warmth of him. Finally alone. Finally together. ”You couldn’t be.”

James carefully raised his arm, gliding his fingers across Robbie’s forehead as if reading the creases through his fingertips. “Wanted to touch you like this for the longest time,” he whispered. “Wanted to kiss you.” The crutch clattered to the floor, forgotten.

“No time like the present.” Robbie cupped the back of his neck, ruffling the blond hair that lipped over his shirt collar. Was decidedly strange to have to lean up for a kiss, but the result was brilliant. Miraculous. 

Life changing and life affirming. 

He could get used to this very quickly. James latched onto Robbie’s shoulders, pulling him closer, their teeth clacking together in their sudden frenzy of need. Sensations spilled over, almost overloading Robbie’s weary brain, but touching James was all the stimulation he required. 

James was panting, his day’s growth of beard far less scratchy than Robbie’s own, his lips attached to Robbie’s. He tasted of tobacco and coffee, and Robbie chuckled. It wasn’t until then that he realised James was trembling.

“Lad?”

“Shouldn’t that be relegated to the same place as sir now that we have kissed?” James sighed, most of his weight on Robbie. He lowered himself to the bed like an articulated lorry, all angles. “Believe me when I say, it’s me not you,” James said pressing his palm against his right hip. 

“I went halfway ‘round the world and back to find love, I can wait a wee bit longer.” Robbie smiled affectionately. 

James peered up at him with that half peevish, half bemused expression that was pure Hathaway. “Do you expect me to point out that you didn’t literally go halfway, or bask in the glow of romance?”

“As if you ever could.”

“As if I ever would.” James nodded with satisfaction, leaning back into the pillows. “I’ve half the idea of taking a shower, but I’ll be the first to invite you into my bed, instead.”

“No shoes on the linens.” Robbie pulled the brogans off James’ long feet and removed the trainers he’d worn for so long they’d become part of him. 

“If that’s the new rule, then I’ve got one as well.” James turned carefully onto his left side, pinching his lips, but a groan of pain slipped out even so. “That shirt goes into the nearest skip.” He tapped a finger on Robbie’s yellow and blue tropical shirt.

“I paid good money for this.” Robbie put up mock protest but unbuttoned and added it to the pile on the floor. He now had fewer clothes on than James. Didn’t matter. The idea of sleeping next to him was so special, he felt reborn.

“Canoodling will come soon, I promise,” James said sleepily. 

“I’ve got you until then,” Robbie whispered, pulling the covers up over both of them, and cradling James to his chest. 

He’d found home.

FIN


End file.
